


Something to Lose

by Ellipsical



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Road Trips, TGC canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellipsical/pseuds/Ellipsical
Summary: "...having something to lose, makes life worth living..."-Harry Hart, The Golden Circle





	1. Barcelona

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mepeters81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mepeters81/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is for the wonderful, patient, kind, lovely mepeters81, who requested Harry and Eggsy, friends to lovers, on a road trip for her FTH prompt. It has been a pleasure to spend time with these characters again and I hope this fic will fit the bill. Thank you so much for bidding on me and for your generous support of TransLifeline. You are a beautiful human and I appreciate you. 
> 
> Content warning for very brief mention of child trafficking. It won't be a thing in the story I promise, however the mission involves a probable trafficking ring. Also a disclaimer: Luc is a fictional character, as are any extrapolations made about the Monegasque monarchy, although I will say that my brief research into that country led me to some pretty wild corners of the world.

_Barcelona, 1 year ago, August_

 

Harry will remember it all later, in startling clear detail.

The dazzle of the light off the water like a clap ringing brightly across his eyes, and the violet scarlet sky, stained by the sun setting off the bow. He’ll remember the way Yves slings Eggsy’s arm, heavy and warm, across the back of his neck and the way the lad sags against him. The way he smells of sweat and sunscreen; salt and coconut. The way his hair is tousled and coppery, the way he lolls his head against Harry’s shoulder, eyes closed, mouth slack.

“He’s either drunk or sea sick,” Yves says, wiping his hands on his thighs, which are covered in a rainbow sheen of glitter. He’s dressed in nothing but a neon pink thong and tiny dark sunglasses, eyeliner and a cherry lip gloss. The music from the dance floor on the upper deck pulses all around them, bass so thick Harry imagines he can see it shaking the deck. Yves points to the gangplank which has already been lowered to curry them away. “But he needs to go. Now.” He edges away from them, as if he wants to remove himself from any proximity to Eggsy’s inelegant display of retching all over the foredeck and then repeatedly over the railing just moments before. Two cabin crew swab the deck a few yards away with similar looks of distaste. It’s neither drink nor sea sickness though; Eggsy, with the aid of some potion Morgana (the new Merlin, RIP) has provided, has bought Harry enough time to sneak below and bug the master bedroom, the main living space, the office, and the bathroom.

It’s the culmination of five days of Eggsy and Harry playing at boyfriends to try and catch the eye of Luc Grimaldi. A member of the royal house of Monaco, he was the bastard son of Princess Stephanie, unacknowledged by the throne in the line of succession, but who had been granted a title nonetheless. Blessed with his grandmother’s golden good looks and a hefty trust fund, Luc travelled in Europe’s elite social circles. Infamous the world over for his lavish parties, tumultuous polyamorous gay romances, and disastrous investments in failing fashion houses, Luc had been dipping his toe into the ready-to-wear side of things, sinking money into a start up with Gavin Meir, a man who was notorious for breaking child labor laws wherever he had factories. After a plea from the Grimaldi family contingent in England (namely a Beatrice who still insisted on her line’s rightful claim to the Monegasque throne and who, unfortunately, had the ear of Arthur) to investigate threats to their safety, made, allegedly, by the playboy duke, after Beatrice and her brother had exposed a possible link between Luc’s startup and child trafficking of underage textile workers taken from vulnerable refugee populations, the agency deployed Harry and Eggsy to see if there was any reason to think Luc was involved.

Harry and Eggsy, both away on separate missions when the request came in, were assigned based on the fact that none of the other knights would deign to take it.

Luc and his super yacht were currently docked in Barcelona’s harbour and about to start a pleasure cruise skirting along the Mediterranean coast and ending in Positano to celebrate his cousin’s recent engagement. Rumour suggested that there were going to be meetings happening throughout the week long festivities. Meetings between Gavin and, possibly, the men responsible for supplying him with workers. Kingsman needed eyes and ears on that boat to find out if Beatrice Grimaldi’s claims had any weight and to get a glimpse into a network they didn’t have much monitoring on. Set with the task of seducing Luc, who had a penchant for getting involved in established relationships as the free wheeling third, Eggsy put the full weight of his charm and youthful coquettishness behind his attempted wooing of the dukeling. But it was Harry that won the invite to Luc’s party over a quiet drink in a dark corner of a bar where the two discussed the state of European politics, namely the Russians, who Luc, it turned out, had an affinity for. Or, more accurately, whose money he didn't mind laundering if it meant that he got a cut.

“All up and working,” Morgana says in Harry’s ear as Harry attempts to manoeuvre a listless, drowsy Eggsy down the gangplank without depositing him into the the Mediterranean on either side. A uniformed man, a part of Luc’s security force, stood below with his hand outstretched, steadying Harry as they stepped down onto the dock.

“Thank you,” Harry grunts as he shoves off, muttering sotto voce to Eggsy to get his bloody feet under him, as they make their staggering way towards shore.

Back in their hotel room Harry and Eggsy toast a job well done with a bottle of the local Cava as the stars come out on their balcony. Over the balustrade the yachts twinkle and glow.

“Nice work, boys,” Morgana says over their glasses comm, pleased as punch with their result. “Crystal clear transmission. I just wish our Luc had better taste in music.” Eggsy and Harry raise their glasses to that. Despite his shower, Eggsy still has glitter caught in his hair, it catches the porch light and glints. “Right then, no need to follow him all the way to Italy. The plane is waiting for you at the airport. Stop by my office tomorrow and we’ll debrief, yes? Yes. All right.”

“Morgana, wait just a moment will you?” Harry interrupts, catching her before she can sign off. Morgana, a young Englishwoman of Nigerian descent, who had attended the Sorbonne and Oxford and had a doctorate in computer science, smiled kindly, but impatiently at Harry and waited, her pen tapping against the clipboard on the desk in front of her. She’s no Merlin, and although Harry feels a tightness in his chest every time the comms rings and a slight disappointment when Morgana's face fills his screen and not his friend's, she’s extremely competent and good at her job and Harry respects her. A part of him hates to spring this on her. A bigger part of him knows it’s necessary.

“I’m putting in the request tonight, but you should know, we’re taking some time off, Eggsy and I, after this one.”

“Oh?” Morgana cocks her head, the corners of her eyes tightening slightly. This will mess with her carefully calibrated schedule, no doubt.

“Yes.” Harry nods, glancing at Eggsy, who looks surprised as well. “It’s been eleven months since Eggsy’s last break, six since mine. We’re taking a week off.”

“A week.”

Harry doesn’t look to see Eggsy’s reaction to this. In truth Harry doesn’t care what he thinks. Ever since the divorce from Tilde two years ago he’s been pushing himself harder and harder, throwing himself into work, making it his whole existence, and Harry knows how that sort of pace can wear on a person. All week, holed up in the same hotel room together to make their story believable, Harry has been able to observe Eggsy more closely than he ever has before. Eggsy sleeps maybe a few hours each night and exercises to the point of madness. If Harry makes the break seem like something he needs, Eggsy will be more likely to agree.

“I’m in need of a little R&R. Being on the continent already, well, it’s the perfect excuse for a holiday, I suppose. A week at the beach should do the trick. I think I’ll even drive up and see the Riviera. I’ll send Howard our paperwork, no need to fret there. And if you’d like us to meet this Luc fellow in Positano at the end of the week, you know how to reach me.” Without waiting for Morgana to respond, Harry turns his glasses off and sets them aside on the table.

He sips his Cava, relishing the sweet crisp snap of the bubbles on his tongue. He looks at the stars and feels Eggsy’s eyes on him.

“Taking a holiday, are we?” he says, voice wry and amused. “Bit presumptuous of you, innit?”

“Yes, well, we’re here. We might as well enjoy it. Have you ever seen the Costa Brava, the Côte d'Azur, Amalfi?

Eggsy laughs, low and warm. Harry tips his head down from regarding the heavens and meets his sardonic gaze. “Yeah, Harry, sure, that’s what me and the lads spent our hols doing. Yachting around the bloody Med.”

“Well, you should,” Harry says, keeping it simple. “And here’s your chance.”

“You gonna let me tag along on your little road trip?”

“Not only will I let you tag along,” Harry says, reaching forward to refill their glasses. “I will let you drive.”

Eggsy’s eyebrows shoot up. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. You can even pick the car.”

“And the snacks,” Eggsy says, quick, “and the music!”

“Yes, all right, within reason that is,” Harry agrees, indulging him. It’s reward enough to see his smile. His genuine one.

Eggsy leans back in his seat and ponders this.

Harry watches him, enjoying the salt tang of the breeze off the water and the rich, piquant smell of paella cooking somewhere nearby. The Cava spreads warm tendrils out through his blood, making his head a bit giddy on an empty stomach.

It takes Eggsy a longer time than usual to meet Harry’s eyes. He seems to be struggling with something. His cheeks are flushed and he fiddles with the stem of his glass, twirling it back and forth between his fingers.

“What is it?”

Eggsy licks his lips and shifts in his seat. If Harry didn’t know him better he would think Eggsy was embarrassed, but why would he be? It was just Harry, after all. No need to hold back. No need for discomfort with him surely.

“I want…” Eggsy trails off.

“Eggsy, what is it?” Harry says, nonplussed.

Eggsy shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“If you don’t want to come with me, I understand, you know. You’re free to make it your own holiday, I just—“

“Nah, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it? What’s giving you pause?”

Eggsy stands up, rolls his shoulders, shrugs it off. “It’s nothing, Harry, really. Let’s go get dinner, yeah? Smells like they’re making something with shrimp nearby and I’m fucking famished.”

Harry watches him for a moment and knows that Eggsy is hiding something, but pointing it out seems unkind. He obviously doesn't want to tell Harry. Yet. Harry pushes his chair back and stands.

Eggsy will tell him in his own time.

Won't he?

He’s quiet as they walk to the elevator bank and on the ride down to the first floor, but once they step out into the lobby he slips his hand into Harry’s. Easy, natural. Harry realises with a jolt that they are still technically on the job until they had left Barcelona behind.

Eggsy’s touch, as always, sets off a series of chain reactions through Harry’s body that ends with a warm flush spreading up his spine. It’s a wonderful, pleasurable feeling that Harry allows himself to revel in. Content, they walk down the street together, following the heady scents wafting from the restaurants that line the boulevard, hand in hand.


	2. Barcelona

Squished together on a padded bench in the bar of a restaurant they are lucky to grab a table at, they feast on Catalonia’s best. Patatas bravas, jamon iberica served with pan de cristal, calamares a la romana, and paella mixta. A bottle of Cava keeps them company and their easy conversation is an exchange of lips bent close to one another’s ears in order to be heard over the busy dinner bustle. It’s during dessert, crema de catalana and cortados, when they are interrupted by a woman Harry vaguely remembers from Luc’s entourage.

“So sorry to interrupt,” she says, in a soft Parisian accent, her long, sleek brown hair falling forward over her shoulders. “But I just had to tell you how lovely you two are as a couple. My friend, Tasha, and I were gushing over you the whole day.” She smiles, lush red lips parting over ludicrously white teeth, and touches Eggsy’s arm with her fingertips. “You can tell you really care about each other and it’s so rare to see inside our circle. Will you be joining Luc for the rest of the cruise?” she asks hopefully.

Eggsy coughs and shakes his head, eyes wide and green. “We won’t, unfortunately, but th—“

Beneath the table his thigh has gone rigid against Harry’s.

“Oh, no!” she exclaims, genuinely disappointed. “Well, I’m glad I got a chance to meet you.” She holds out her hand and shakes each of theirs in turn. “I hope you’re always this happy together. _Au revoir_.” And with that she melts away, weaving through the bar’s boisterous crowd, leaving a surprised, slightly uncomfortable silence in her wake.

“That was kind of her,” Harry ventures, a moment later, dipping his spoon back into the custard and making sure to capture a bit of the crackly brown edge in the bite. He wills, with great intention, his heart to slow it’s wild thudding inside his chest.

Eggsy, still staring at the spot where the girl disappeared into the moil, blinks, and smiles briefly at Harry. “Very kind,” he murmurs, picking up his espresso cup and tipping the last sip into his mouth.

Harry wonders, for a moment, if Eggsy is affected by the girl’s words as he is. If Eggsy’s heart is tripping over itself, doing somersaults inside his chest. If his breathing has turned shallow.

But when Eggsy waves the waitress down and signals for the cheque he doesn’t look at Harry after, just gazes into the middle distance as Harry finishes the dessert, in silence.

 

**********

 

“She’s right, you know.”

“Hmm?” Harry blinks back to Eggsy, his gaze pulled from where it had pensively landed on the high swinging ponytail of the girl in tight jeans and a fur bolero jacket just in front of them. The heels of her boots make a crisp clicking sound against the pavement. Harry finds it strangely satisfying. Pleasing. Couldn’t explain why. Could have something to do with the alcohol, pulsing a warm heady beat through his veins.

Eggsy’s eyes dart between Harry and the girl, his brow knit in amusement. Harry shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking bout what?”

“Unimportant. What were you saying?”

“Never mind.”

“No,” Harry insists. “You said, she’s right. Who is?”

Eggsy throws out his arm, sets his fingertips to Harry’s chest to stop him crossing the street. Harry looks up, startled. The girl is running against the light, her hair bouncing, her boots clattering. A car blares its horn at her. A string of colourful Spanish curse words are exchanged.

“Christ, Harry.”

“Sorry.”

Beneath Eggsy’s touch Harry’s heart beats quicker. He turns, just slightly, leaning into it.

“Eggsy.”

The boy’s gaze flickers up from the street to meet his.

“You were saying…”

Eggsy nods. Licks his lips. Nervous again.

But why?

Bodies press in around them. A group of university age people, raucous and happy. Eggsy is forced to take a step closer. Harry is looking down at the crown of his head, his nose tickled by a foreign cologne from a lad to their right, spicy, brash, overwhelming.

Eggsy’s palm flattens over Harry’s solar plexus, the rise and fall of his breath. His fingers curl. In.

Harry waits. Hope like a bird swooping and diving in his chest. Hope for what, he’s not even entirely sure. He has no idea what it is Eggsy is keeping from him and it sets his nerves zinging.

The light turns and the boisterous young people shuffle by them, jostling. Eggsy’s hand slips down, flaring briefly across Harry’s belly, then falls away.

Harry’s heart beats.

Beats.

They step down off the kerb together, carried along by the tide, and Eggsy shoves his hands in his pockets, chin tucked down.

The crowd deposits them in front of their hotel and the walk to the elevator bank is quiet, punctuated by rapid fire Japanese from a businessman behind them on his phone.

The man follows them off the elevator and down the hallway, letting himself into the room across the hall from them.

The silence, as Harry pushes open the heavy door, buzzes in his ears.

Harry steps into the dark room and steps aside to hold the door and let Eggsy pass.

Hand on the door handle, he lets the weight pull him forward. He’s just turning as the latch clicks in the jamb, reaching blindly for the light switch when Eggsy, crowding close, catches his wrist and gently, slowly, pins it to the wall.


	3. Barcelona

Harry’s back presses into the door, Eggsy stepping up, stepping close, holding him in place.

His hair glints, gold flecks catching the light out the balcony doors behind him, but otherwise he is in shadow. His body heat flushes against Harry, the door a cold, hard counterpoint at his back.

Eggsy hangs his head, braced for impact, but still he can’t quite seem to manage the necessary words.

Whatever it is that Eggsy has been trying to say ever since Harry rang off the phone with Morgana is obviously causing him distress, but Harry finally gets it. Pinned to the door as he is, with the boy before him trying to muster up the courage to change both their lives, it really shouldn’t have taken all this for Harry to act, but here they are.

And it’s obvious to Harry that what he has been feeling all week hasn’t been experienced alone. This wonderful, natural ease that exists between them has only deepened as they were allowed to touch and flirt and be affectionate openly. This slow tipping over into something more wasn’t an act anymore. This mission had merely removed all pretence to pretend otherwise.

And with joy brimming inside him in a sweet heavenly spill Harry sets his fingertips to the underside of Eggsy’s chin and tips it up.

Relief seems to buckle Eggsy’s knees as Harry’s mouth slides over his and he sags into Harry with the softest of moans so that Harry must wrap his arms around him and bolster him so that he can keep kissing him. And kissing him. And kissing him.

They had somehow skirted this over the last few days, sticking, by some silent agreement, to hand holding and a brush of lips across cheeks or jaws or throats. There had been lap sitting and hugging and some close dancing on a packed parquet floor that had left Harry with a jackhammer heart, an erection to rival Pisa trapped sideways in his trousers, and blood afizz with euphoric arousal. He had wanted to throw Eggsy up against the nearest wall and have his way with him.

But Harry is thankful now that they had waited.

It’s unsullied by farce.

Untainted by prevarication.

It’s honest and tender and true.

Once Eggsy has regained his legs Harry is free to cup his head and press inside. Christ, the way Eggsy opens to his tongue, the way he fists his hands in Harry’s shirt at his hips, tugging at it, urgent.

Neither of them speak. What is there to say that could possibly match these kisses? That could somehow enhance the helplessly clumsy stumble backwards through the hallway, not wanting to part long enough to navigate the rug, the kitchenette counter, the bedside table with it’s lamp that tumbles quietly onto Harry’s pillow?

Eggsy sets it back onto the tabletop and clicks it on, laughing quietly at their haste as he sits on the edge of the bed, but soon Harry is bending to capture his lips once more, palming his shoulders to lay him out beneath him and both of them forget the crumpled lampshade and the twinge of a bruise stinging on Harry’s elbow from where he knocked it against the marble corner of the island.

It is summer. It is evening. Outside the waves roar at the cool window panes, battering the sand, but inside there is only the crash of heart beats, the swift tide of desire.

They lie on their sides and kiss. Eggsy’s fingers are threaded into Harry’s hair. He tastes faintly of coffee and caramelised sugar, smells of nothing but himself, familiar. The subtle cologne beneath his jaw drags sour across Harry’s tongue as he sucks down Eggsy’s throat, but the scent of sandalwood and cardamom teases pleasantly at Harry’s senses.

He moves lower. Plucks the collar of Eggsy’s t-shirt aside to get to the sharp edge of his collarbone. And when Eggsy groans, tosses his head back, his hips thrust forward, rubbing his cock beneath Harry’s ribcage, Harry sets his teeth there and nibbles. Eggsy trembles deliciously, making sounds that send Harry’s blood surging.

Lower. To shove up the cotton hem, to push his mouth to the heave and roll of Eggsy’s belly, the rise and fall of his chest with each quickening breath beneath Harry’s palm.

“Harry.”

Harry looks up. Up the sprawl of Eggsy’s body, the t-shirt bunched up around his nipples, to the dark pools of his eyes.

Eggsy slides his right hand out of Harry’s hair and thumbs over his cheek.

Harry turns into it. Nuzzles the centre of his palm. His heart a thunder-crack inside his chest, throbbing in his ears, smarting in his elbow.

 _Slow down a bit_ , he thinks.

Kneeling up.

Waiting for Eggsy to follow.

When he does Harry pulls his sweater up and over his head and tosses it onto the floor. With his eyes on Eggsy’s he begins unbuttoning his shirt. Eggsy, in one fluid motion, divests himself of his tee.

Harry lets Eggsy make the next move. Waits for the hot skin of his hands to wrap around his hips, waits for Eggsy to nudge his mouth up to Harry’s, waits for the sway of Eggsy’s body against his, before he sets his fingers to the top button on Eggsy’s jeans.

Eggsy’s mouth is soft and hungry, his tongue pushing, needy and wet, into Harry’s mouth as Harry pops each button in turn, five in all, until finally his fly is undone and his jeans swath his hips, loose.

Harry hooks his thumbs into the waistbands, pants and jeans both, and pulls down.

Eggsy shudders and breaks away, looking down at his cock, standing out from his body, hard and thick between them.

Harry waits a tick, admiring the loveliness of it, the powerfulness of it, feeling the full force of Eggsy’s longing so plainly bared.

“Touch me,” Eggsy breathes. “Harry.” Pleading.

So Harry does. Licks his palm, reaches down and wraps his hand around it. Strokes up.

Eggsy’s hands on Harry’s shoulders, gripping.

“Fuck,” torn out of him. Hips stuttering forward. Cock sliding in Harry’s tight, slick grip.

Harry wanks him slowly, kisses him messy, until they are both panting and Eggsy is fumbling with the zip on Harry’s trousers.

When Harry’s cock springs free, no pants to speak of, Eggsy looks surprised for a moment, but he recovers quickly, grinning, and mumbles, “You dirty fuck,” before pushing Harry back to sit against the headboard, kicking off his jeans, and scrambling into his lap.

It’s a glorious ride, two cocks, two fists, with spit to wet the way. Eggsy works his hips like an expert, hands flat against the wall above Harrys head, as the headboard knocks rhythmically against it in time to his thrusts.

His nipples are at the perfect height for Harry to lick, so lick he does, and suck, and flick, which sets Eggsy fucking his cock quicker and quicker into the joined circle of their hands, rubbing off against Harry. It’s delirious and perfect and Harry can feel his orgasm glowing hot in his thighs, slowly spreading through his belly and up his spine. He is the first to tumble over into bliss, Eggsy following mere seconds later with a shout. Harry wonders, thickly, if the Japanese businessman was currently complaining to the front desk about the ruckus.

“Harry,” Eggsy pants, holding Harry’s face between his hands, still perched atop Harry’s thighs. “Harry, you magnificent bastard, that was fucking incredible. Why the fuck haven’t we been doing that for years?”

Too many reasons to count present themselves so Harry just shakes his head, bathed in the warmth of Eggsy’s incandescent happiness.

“That bird at the restaurant was right, Harry, we make great boyfriends. Spectacular boyfriends,” Eggsy continues, in between kisses. Whatever dam had been holding him back before was now broken. His words running over each other as he tries to get them out. “Be my boyfriend, Harry. My real boyfriend, yeah? God, we’re already good at this. SO BLOODY GOOD, HARRY!” He exclaims in all capitals. “You said, you remember, you said having something to lose made life worth living. You’re mine, Harry. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” So fierce, his tone, his eyes; Harry’s throat aches. “I want this. I want this all the time. Do you?”

“Yes.”

It startles both of them.

Eggsy’s eyes widen. His smile climbs his cheeks, etching them with shocked joy.

Harry doesn’t allow himself to second guess it. He just leans in and joins his smile to Eggsy’s and falls with him to tangle together in the sheets.


	4. Tossa de Mar

Harry wakes at 3:42 needing the loo and realises, standing in the doorway to the bedroom looking at the shape of Eggsy beneath the covers, that he’s really and truly awake. So he pulls the French doors almost all the way shut and puts the telly on mute out in the sitting room.

Eggsy’s alarm goes off at 5 and he stumbles out a few minutes later rubbing at his eyes.

“What’s this?” he asks, almost unintelligible through a yawn, coming around the sofa.

“Couldn’t sleep. Side effect of getting older, I’m afraid,” Harry says and watches as Eggsy blinks at him owlishly, before shuffling forward and lying down across the length of the sofa to bury his face in Harry’s stomach, arms wrapped tight around his back.

“Thought you might be having a bit of a panic,” Eggsy murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft faded cotton of Harry’s sleeping shirt. His eyes are closed, lashes curled and dark against his cheek. There are clumps of sleep caught in the corners and his lips are slightly chapped. Harry reaches down and places his hand on Eggsy’s hip, his thumb moving over the bare strip of skin just above the waistband of his blue boxer briefs.

“No panic here,” Harry says, and is surprised again at how unsurprised he is that this is true. Should he be having a panic? Probably. Them being together will undoubtedly cause complications in both of their lives, not to mention what Morgana will have to say when she heard. But Harry couldn’t find it in him to worry just then. This thing between them was warm and easy, both familiar and exhilaratingly new at once. He thinks of last night, the frenzy of their lovemaking and the slow kissing that came after, and then the intimate teasing as they got ready for bed, how Eggsy fit, so perfectly, into his arms. Harry would allow himself to enjoy it. But maybe, possibly, Eggsy wasn’t as sure? “And you?” Harry asks, keeping his voice measured.

Eggsy’s mouth curves. His arms tighten around Harry’s waist. He shakes his head. Burrows closer.

Harry can feel the damp heat of his breath seep through, leaving a warm mouth shaped spot on his skin. Harry resumes his stroking as Eggsy’s breath evens out, kipping for a few extra moments before he’ll head down to the hotel’s gym as Harry watches the BBC. Harry finds himself utterly, utterly content.

 

**********

 

“It’s…um…a tad small, isn’t it?” Harry says, as diplomatically as he can, later on, as Eggsy leans against the glossy sapphire blue hood of a Sunbeam Alpine Roadster.

“If Cary Grant could fit, I suppose you can.” Sunglasses hiding his smiling eyes when Harry looks up at him in pleased surprise. “I thought you’d appreciate that reference, you daft git,” Eggsy says, laughing, stepping around the side to pull the driver’s side door open. “Now, come on and get in!”

It’s a beautiful day, the dry heat of the Spanish sun on their faces as they turn the car north.Eggsy keeps his hand on Harry’s thigh when he’s not using it to switch gears and it sets a latent hum vibrating underneath Harry’s skin. They listen to the radio and Harry feeds Eggsy from the pork flavoured crisp bags he purchased before they had picked up the car from a Kingsman handler.Occasionally he must offer his orange-tinted fingers to Eggsy, who helpfully licks and sucks them clean, with his eyes dark and hot on Harry’s, which only makes the hum intensify, settling like a coal in his navel, in his thighs.

They stop for lunch a little off their intended path in Tossa de Mar, but it’s a beach Harry remembers from years before, and it doesn’t disappoint. They sit on the patio and eat rock mussels with black pepper and lemon, steaks grilled on a hot stone with seared potatoes, and sip wine beneath the grape vines that hang from the iron lattice above them.

They climb the stairs to the medieval fortress that towers above the town and brave the steep path down the cliffside on the other side, picking their way down to the nude beach in a half-moon shaped cove.

They strip to their skin, watching each other in furtive quick-fire glances. Seeing what they didn’t have time to see last night. Eggsy’s thick thighs and glorious arse, the moles that dot his skin, the auburn freckles on his chest. He doesn’t give Harry long to appreciate it before he is running and diving into the frothy surf. Harry joins him a moment later. They swim out into the aquamarine, the water clear and warm and sparking in the sunlight. The salt tingles on his skin as they make for a jetty of rocks jutting out into the bay. There’s a shallow inlet on the other side where Harry can stand. He catches Eggsy’s hand and tugs him forward.

Slippery, he eels against Harry before wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and pressing them close.

The water is warm as the sheets they were wrapped in last night, the sun beating down on their shoulders as they kiss.

And kiss.

And kiss.

The seawater dries on Eggsy’s skin in white streaks of salt and Harry licks it from his throat. Eggsy moans and shoves his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Harry’s belly. Water makes a terrible lubricant though and Eggsy’s foreskin catches and sticks, making him whine a little in the back of his throat as Harry sucks gently on his Adam’s apple.

There’s a boulder with a small ledge directly behind Eggsy and Harry manoeuvres him back, pushing the boy up and onto the rock so that he can spread Eggsy’s thighs wide and take the plump tip of his cock into his mouth. Harry can hope that the people who live on the cliffs above them can’t see, but at least they are shielded from the view of the beach. Just on the other side of the jetty is the sound of a group of teenagers splashing and shouting and the danger of being caught makes an illicit thrill skate down his spine. Harry leans forward, taking Eggsy deeper, loving the glide of Eggsy’s hard prick across his tongue. Eggsy moans, loud and shocked, above him.

“Can you be quiet?” Harry reprimands in a whisper, letting Eggsy’s cock slide out of his mouth. Eggsy clutches desperately at the back of Harry’s head, urging him back, nodding, pupils black, swallowing the green.

“Yeah, fuck, I’ll—sure, yes, course, Harry, yes, yes.” Licking his lips pink as he tries to catch his breath. As he tries to get Harry back on his cock.

Harry pins him, thighs splayed, and sucks the crown back inside. He pauses there, working his tongue around and over Eggsy’s frenulum and the thick round head.

Eggsy bows his back, making aborted garbled sounds deep in his throat as Harry slides down a little further, closing his lips around the shaft.

The bitter taste of Eggsy’s precome smears across the back of his throat as Harry swallows against him.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come, Harry. Harry. Oh. _Ohhh_ , ” groaned quietly so that Harry has to strain to hear him over the break of the water over the rocks.

Harry bobs up, suctioning a tight channel around him, as Eggsy convulses under his hands, thighs shaking, straining against Harry’s palms, and spills, thick and creamy, down Harry’s throat.

There’s the noise of feet scrabbling over the rocks above them as Eggsy sinks boneless back into the water to float on his back with a dreamy little smile on his face. The teens are leaping off the jetty into the water, screaming in delight and Harry, heart beating quick in his throat, in his chest, dives down to let the chilled water at the bottom slow the throbbing of blood in his cheeks. Christ, that had been close.

Eggsy swims toward him, languid, still smiling, when Harry surfaces a few feet away.

“That was reckless,” Harry says, treading water.

Eggsy shakes his head, eyes bright above the water. “Nah, that was _brilliant,_ is what it was.”

“We almost got caught,” Harry points out, his eyes flicking to the group now pushing each other off the rocks. The colourful umbrellas and boats on shore as a backdrop.

Eggsy shrugs, one golden shoulder lifting above the gentle green-blue waves. “Worth it.”

Harry shakes his head, heart rate slowly returning to normal, and tips onto his back, letting the current drag him back and forth. He feels the movement of the water against his calves, the drag of it in his hair, as Eggsy swims up beside him.

Eggsy's mouth is wet and salty as he leans down to kiss Harry, moving his tongue against Harry’s tongue in a way that makes the hum start up again. The hum that makes Harry forget that he was risking arrest in a foreign country just because he couldn’t keep his hands off Eggsy just moments before.

“We need to leave soon,” Eggsy murmurs, pressing little kisses across Harry’s cheeks. The sun is hot on Harry’s eyelids so he keeps his eyes closed. Eggsy’s hand settles in the center of his back beneath the water, steadying him, keeping him close. “If we want to get into France by tea time.”

Harry hums, not wanting to leave the silky warm water just yet, and Eggsy, easily convinced to linger, leans down to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> The car that Grace Kelly and Cary Grant drive in _To Catch a Thief _.__
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> Eggsy and Harry stop for lunch in Tossa de Mar and eat at the Braseria Pini Pizzeria (incidentally where I have eaten and swam, however not skinny-dipping like the boys).


	5. London [present day]

“Hey, babe.”

Harry minimises the documents he was reading and lets Eggsy’s face fill his screen instead.

“Hello, darling. How is Johannesburg?”

“Easy peasy. Headed home in about an hour. What’re you up to?”

“Looking over some financials Morgana sent over.”

“For the Peterson mission?”

Harry hums, slipping his reading glasses off and setting them on the bedside table.

“I like your specs,” Eggsy protests, when Harry straightens. “You should keep ‘em on sometime when we’re fucking, yeah?”

“And what type of role-play would that be?” Harry chuckles. “Doddering librarian?”

Eggsy bites his bottom lip and arches one brow. “You could wear your brown jumper.”

Harry snorts. “Oh, yes, that should get your blood really pumping.”

“You kink shaming my librarian fantasy?”

“Never.”

“Good.”

They both grin at each other, and Harry feels that now familiar tide rise in his chest. A slow rush of affection bubbling up to settle as a tight throb in the back of his throat.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Eggsy groans. “M’s had me going non-stop lately. We need a holiday. And soon.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Harry reaches over to set a sheaf of papers down as well and as he does he has to nudge aside a picture frame to make it all fit.

“What?”

Harry returns his eyes to the screen, brows drawn in.

“What do you mean, what?”

“What’re you smilin’ at?”

“The jellyfish photo.”

Eggsy’s face splits wide in a laugh, which ends in an agonised groan. “That fucking jellyfish ruined everything!”

Harry shakes his head. “You mean it forced us to finally communicate.”

“I liked the part where you were hot for my knob best.”

“Oh, so you mean the entire trip?”

“You have to admit, the jellyfish put a stop to you… you pushing me up against anything and everything you could, mm? And having your way with me? _That_ was the _best_.”

“Yes, well, I apologise for not wanting you to be in searing pain. How wildly inconsiderate of me.”

“Don’t get stroppy with me.”

Harry looks at the photo again. Eggsy riding piggy-back, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek, right below his eyepatch. They are both bare chested, tan, and mid-laugh. Eggsy drunk on limonchello shots and Harry sporting a sunburn across his cheeks and forehead. The jellyfish sting a livid red patch on Eggsy’s left shin. Harry had carried him up to their hotel room that way, just after Eggsy had begged the barkeeper to take a picture of them with his phone. There had been cobblestones, uneven beneath his feet, and jasmine floating over garden walls, Eggsy’s slurred voice low in his ear, and the warm Italian air on their skin. And, the next morning, there had been a conversation. Of rather epic proportions.

“Do you think if I had panicked right away, we would be here right now?” Harry muses, stricken a bit maudlin by the memory.

Eggsy answers right away, without any equivocation. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Yeah. There wasn’t anything to figure out. ‘member?”

“That is putting a very positive spin on it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“There wasn’t nothin’ to figure out because it works between us. The rest was—“ Eggsy rolls his hand through the air. “—details.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You ain’t having regrets are you?” Eggsy asks, looking suddenly unsure.

“No!” Harry exclaims. “Christ, no.”

Eggsy’s face clears instantly. “Then what’re we even talking about? Forget the jellyfish, Harry. I want to talk about sexy librarians who encounter naughty patrons in need of discipline.”

“I wasn’t only hot for your knob, you know,” Harry says, ignoring the suggestive, incendiary way Eggsy is looking at him. It makes Harry’s skin prickle hot with anticipation, but there is something he needs Eggsy to understand first. “I was in love with you. Devastatingly so. I just…”

“Couldn’t say it,” Eggsy finishes for him.

“Yes. I was afraid to break the spell. I was…”

This time Eggsy waits for him to go on.

“I was afraid to…to…” Harry shakes his head as if that will clear it. The words he had wanted to say disappear. “I don’t know. I was just afraid.”

“It was a big risk,” Eggsy says, quiet.

“Yes.” Harry says, grateful. “It was.”

“I was thinking about that morning we woke up in France on the flight yesterday.”

“You were?” It’s a good one. A memory Harry takes out quite often when they are apart.

The huge bed with it’s soft white sheets and the bright clear sunlight falling through sheer curtains. The scent of the sea riding in on a breeze through the windows. Eggsy laid out on his stomach as Harry licked him open, slowly, down below.

“I want another morning like that. Where we have all the time in the world.” Eggsy’s eyes shine as they both picture it in their minds. Harry’s sun-dark hands on the white skin of Eggsy’s thighs. Parting them. His fingers inside the tight satin clutch of Eggsy’s body. The way that Eggsy had moaned and moaned. And the city of Nice slowly waking up around them.

“I’ll put in the paperwork tomorrow,” Harry says, voice thick. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s go back to Tourettes,” Eggsy says, a little dreamily, his eyes losing focus. “I want to get you drunk on fizz again and watch you get silly.”

Harry finds himself blushing a bit, but nods. “I suppose it will be an anniversary of sorts.”

Eggsy smiles and makes Harry’s heart flip. “Perfect.”


	6. Tourrettes-Sur-Loup

Harry wakes up in Tourrettes with the dull panicked thudding of a nightmare pounding against his ribs.

He slips out of bed to drink a glass of water and ends up curled in the oversized armchair near the balcony doors, wrapped in a throw blanket, watching the moonlit olive trees rustle drily against each other outside.

The feeling of being on edge doesn’t subside even though Harry can’t recall what he was dreaming of before he woke.

He can guess of course.

It’s probably the same thing that’s been keeping him distracted for the last few days, tying his tongue up and twisting his heart into knots, making his cheeks prickle and his fingers twitch.

Behind him Eggsy snores softly, oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle.

Harry’s never done this.

This love business.

How does one go about it? How does one not muck it up? How does one deal with the terror and the blind certainty and the overwhelming crush of feelings?

Before, Harry always had an excuse to end things before it ever reached this stage.

This stage where the words I love you were constantly trying to skip out of his mouth at every opportunity. It felt like only a matter of time before Harry wouldn’t be able to catch them and swallow them down in time and they would be out there. Unequivocal. 

Was it too soon?

Of course it was. Even Harry, a complete novice at this, could tell that blurting out I love you within days of beginning a relationship was insane.

But…

It wasn’t quite the beginning was it?

This relationship had been built over five years now. Harry loved Eggsy before all of this started. Was being in love with him so different? The answer was a confounding no and yes at the same time. No, in the sense that he felt as if he knew Eggsy intimately already, however it was also yes, because he hadn’t known him in a physical sense, a utterly new sense of touch that hadn’t allowed Harry to fully express the extent of his love before. The vulnerability it required was staggering. And it was showing him sides of Eggsy he hadn’t been privy to before.

Eggsy had been brave enough to bring them into this new space where this new facet of love could be explored.

Would Harry be the one brave enough to take them even further?

 

**********

 

He’s preoccupied all day. Lost in thought as they walk through the clear, bright air along the ancient cobbled streets. The white sun-bleached stone that speaks of centuries past with veins of terracotta orange clay snaking between, piles of melons and golden plums and pistachios for sale, lush vines of green ivy and flowers climbing the medieval walls, potted plants hugging the tight alleyways, pork with red onion confit and brandy drunk peaches for lunch, paired with wine as crisp as the sunlight pouring down the steep hillside to the Med which twinkles majestically in the distance. 

He’s a bit maudlin by the time they’re sitting under a rosé sky at dusk sipping champagne.

A bit maudlin and on his way to drunk.

After a light dinner Eggsy buys them a ice cream cone to share on the walk back to the hotel. The scoop of the glacerie’s signature violet ice cream is a bit too perfume like for his taste, but it’s refreshing after the day of walking in the sun. The silky cool kisses he shares with Eggsy pressed up against rough stone are even better.

His head reels a bit, giddy with intoxication. Body singing with pleasure, with arousal, with love.

_I love you_ , he thinks.

_I love you_ , a steady, sure pulse through his veins.

“Harry,” Eggsy whispers, “Harry.” His hands in Harry’s hair, mussing it terribly. Harry doesn’t care.

_I love you_ , he almost says. The words like a searing brand against the backs of his teeth.

“Harry, take me to bed,” murmured into Harry’s ear. Harry nodding, nodding, as he tilts his head to kiss him.

Kiss him.

“I want you to fuck me,” mumbled against Harry’s lips as their hips press close. Harry gasping yes as Eggsy grins.

Harry manages to stumble into a nearby Tabac to purchase condoms, the woman at the counter winking teasingly at his disheveled appearance as he fumbles the latch on the door and ducks outside.

Eggsy is in the shower when he arrives back.

Harry paces, running his hands through his hair over and over. His blood feels electrified, his fingertips tingling.When the water switches off there is an echoing roar of blood in his ear as he waits for the door to open.

_I love you_ , he thinks, drinking in the sight of Eggsy in the doorway, naked, his body etched in the light behind him, light sluicing out into the darkness of the room. Harry realises slowly, they had both forgotten to switch on the lamp.

Eggsy’s skin is still wet, heat melting into Harry’s hands as he takes Eggsy into his arms.

The bitter ghost of soap lingering on Eggsy’s skin as Harry carries him to the bed, lays him down on it.

_I love you_ , he thinks, kissing the words into Eggsy’s throat, his belly, hip, and thighs.

_I love you_ , beating through him as he enters Eggsy for the first time. Split open by the vastness of it. The way it obliterates his borders, casts him out onto a horizonless sea.

_I love you_ , with Eggsy coming apart below him, around him, taking Harry with him.

“I love you,” spoken into the night, into Eggsy’s nape, as he sleeps in Harry’s arms.

Harry huddled behind him, tucked into him, awake, feeling like a coward.


	7. Monaco-Ville

The spread before them is extravagant: madeleines, chai langues de chat, cannelles, profiteroles, macarons, daquoisettes. The Med sparkles just out the open windows before them and Monaco-Ville climbs the green hills in a pretty pastel sprawl. They’ve just come from the spa and Harry feels relaxed for the first time in days. Eggsy, sitting across from him with bits of chou and cream endearingly smeared on his chin, munches contentedly on an eclair and watches the yachts arc across the sea, leaving trails of white froth in their wake. People sun themselves on the shore, the camel hued sand lapped by the shallow verdigris wavelets.

Harry sips his tea and lets his thoughts wander a bit.

This is the fourth day of their trip; there are three days left. Later this afternoon they will enter Italy.

Three days and then…

back home.

“I was invited here once,” Eggsy says, interrupting that line of thinking before Harry can follow the spiral of it down and down, “for a wedding or some such, with Tilde.”

“Oh?” Harry says, grateful for the reprieve. “And why were you unable to attend?” The bright morning sun glances off the silver tiers of the pastry platter and scatters blindingly across his eyes. Harry shifts, turning his body towards Eggsy’s.

Eggsy, wearing black sunglasses and a rueful smile, nods. “Well, I was a shit husband, didn’t you know?” He rubs his thumb across his lips and then sucks the chocolate off the tip. “Work came first, that’s what Tilde’d tell you if you asked. I can’t even remember where I was, but it was adding up. I didn’t know it, but it was. Every time I missed a state dinner, or a royal trip, or bloody kissing some random commoner’s baby, it was stacking up against me and I didn’t even know the score until it was too late.”

It’s the most Eggsy has said about Tilde since their divorce two years prior. Harry waits, almost holding his breath, afraid if he makes a wrong move it will scare him off. Eggsy is private by nature and Harry doesn’t like to pry; it can make for an infuriatingly round about way of getting to know one another.

“I thought I had it all, after all the shit that went down, I thought I was owed it— princess wife, more cash than I could dream of, a job that suited me—but I wasn’t paying attention and I was caught up in becoming this person I thought I was supposed to be, finally, and all I could think was that Tilde was trying to keep me from that. We fought every time we were together. And all I could see was her complaining, her nagging, her asking for more of me than I thought I should have to give, but—“ Eggsy stops himself abruptly, pressing his lips together.

“But?” Harry prompts, unable to help himself.

“But she was right, I wasn’t there. And if you’re with someone you have to be there. Otherwise…you can’t build anything. There’s never any time.” Eggsy sighs and drags his sunglasses up his face to sit on the top of his head. His eyes are startlingly green as they meet Harry’s, chagrined. “I been thinking about London…” he says, and Harry feels the bottom of his stomach drop out, falling straight down to his heels. He hadn’t expected the conversation to circle back so neatly and apply to them. Christ, he isn’t ready for this conversation yet.

And just then, out of all the hotels in Monaco, in strolls Luc.

And Harry, taking it as the gift it is, curries Eggsy out the back and into the car.

 

**********

 

The drive into Italy is a dazzle of greens and golds interspersed with splashes of apricot and peach and terracotta, and all the while the lapis-cyan-azure sea perpetually sparkles in the background. Against such a decadent backdrop Eggsy shines. His dark blonde hair ruffled by the wind, his expressive mouth tugged wide in smile, his sunglasses reflecting Harry back at himself, a smile rivalling Eggsy’s own, although perhaps more indulgent, perched beneath his nose. They’ve been talking of sport for the last half an hour, a subject Harry is woefully ignorant of, but he is enjoying Eggsy’s pride in having to explain things to Harry immensely. He’s charming and engaged and lit up. Harry can feel the electric energy of him crackle across his bare forearms.

“You don’t give a toss about football, do you?” Eggsy says, after a particularly animated rant about a team he is devoted to, leaning back against his door, arm extended the length of the windowsill. He trails his fingertips over the curve of the wing mirror. The sun paints him bronze, the wind whipping his fringe off his forehead. He is relaxed, mouth full and sumptuous in repose; Harry wants to bite the cherry red swell of his bottom lip.

Eggsy shifts in his seat under the heat of Harry’s gaze and then leans forward, towards it, placing his hand on Harry’s knee and running it up the inside to cup where Harry is starting to get hard.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” Eggsy murmurs appreciatively, leaning in to set his lips against Harry’s ear.

Harry’s hands tighten on the wheel, attention on the road ahead, as Eggsy’s arm slides across the seat behind him, and his hand…

The throttled groan that Harry emits as Eggsy squeezes expertly, could have come from the Roadster it is so low and choked and gravelly.

“Babe, has anyone ever given you road head before?” The words feather across Harry’s ear, tickling. A hot shiver races down his spine as his hips lift, just slightly, up.

“Well? Have they?” Eggsy aks, moving his hand over the thickening bulge. Harry swallows thickly, head ringing, and shakes his head. Eggsy’s head drops back onto the seatback with an exaggerated thump and he bites his lip. “That is the fucking greatest news I’ve heard in a long, long time,” he whispers when he’s recovered and plastered back against Harry’s side with his hand working industriously at Harry’s trouser button while he licks sloppily at Harry’s throat.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, fuck,” Harry mutters as Eggsy gets his placket open, his zip down, and his cock out.

It feels as if they are sitting in a rollercoaster cart being carried along by an inexorable track. Harry eases his foot off the gas as his body takes over and his thoughts begin to fizz, popping like so many bubbles.

“Put the car in cruise,” Eggsy instructs, but unfortunately the car doesn’t have cruise control and they are on a two lane highway, wheeling down the thyme and lavender scented hills towards the Italian Riviera. When Harry can form the words to explain this coherently Eggsy curses and buries his face in Harry’s shoulder as he reassesses. This speed bump however, doesn’t deter him from moving his fist lightly up and down Harry’s shaft.

“All right, you’re just going to have to white knuckle it, Harry,” Eggsy decides, deadly serious, a moment later.

“I’m afraid I’m already white knuckling it, my dear. I’m not sure what else I can do.”

“I believe in you,” Eggsy says, low and soft, into Harry’s ear. “I really, really want to get my mouth on your cock. I think you want that too.”

“I could just pull over,” Harry says, reasonably, as his heart thuds dangerously hard against his ribs.

“That’s not road head, Harry,” Eggsy whines. “That’s just boring old regular head. Just, in a car.”

“I highly doubt, um, that, um, head could ever be, Christ, boring,” Harry counters, breathlessly distracted, glancing down at where Eggsy is stroking the pad of his thumb around and around the exposed crown of Harry’s cock. “God, that feels incredible.” Harry tries really hard not to close his eyes. Fails. Allows himself one long hard blink as heat begins to spread down his thighs.

“You have to do two things,” Eggsy says, pressing small sweet kisses to Harry’s jaw. “You have to keep your eyes open and you have to keep us in our lane. That’s it. That’s easy peasy, Harry.”

“Could you keep a car on the road if I was giving you head?” Harry asks, highly doubting his ability to accomplish those two things at once.

“Fuck no, I couldn’t, I’d crash us off the side of the mountain,” Eggsy says, face scrunched up in a huge grin as he pulls far enough away from Harry to look him in the eye. Harry’s eyes skip back and forth between drowning in viridescence and keeping the front tyres between the lines. “It’d probably be worth it though.”

“Let’s just try it,” Eggsy suggests, as a string of oncoming cars pass them. Harry tracks them nervously, the danger made very palpable in that moment. But Eggsy continues to coax him gently. “Just a little bit, and if you feel like you’re going to kill us then you can pull over.”

“And you’ll give me boring old regular head?”

Eggsy’s mouth twitches, his eyes shining. “Yeah.”

“Promise?”

Eggsy leans in and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Promise.” It isn’t enough, that tiny peck, but it will have to do for now, because now, now Eggsy is leaning down to kiss something else entirely.

At first he is coquettish. Teasing Harry with soft, dry kisses, and the streaming wet heat of his breath. Harry grips the wheel and slams his teeth together and feels his concentration unraveling.

But then Eggsy opens his mouth and takes Harry inside and it is a monumental feat of strength not to jerk the wheel and careen over onto the shoulder. As Eggsy’s mouth hollows around Harry, his blonde head bobbing in Harry’s lap, sucking tight, Harry notices for maybe the first time, that there is a car behind them and that it is following closely.

Closely enough that the occupant has probably noticed that the passenger is now bent over the driver’s lap.

“Eggsy,” Harry hisses, as Eggsy does something exceedingly clever with his tongue. Eggsy ignores him, so Harry drops his hand down onto the back of Eggsy’s head and says, “Eggsy, I think the car behind us can tell what we’re doing.”

Eggsy pulls back and looks up at Harry incredulously as he wanks him in his tight, spit-slick hand. “So? Let ‘em watch. The Italians are always fucking anyway, aren’t they? They probably invented road head. During the Trojan war or something. In chariots.”

Harry can’t be expected to worry about the driver _and_ Eggsy’s egregious historical error _and_ how bloody good it feels when Eggsy drops back down onto Harry’s cock so Harry leaves his hand on Eggsy’s head, moving him up and down and doesn’t drive them off a cliff and into the Med. He counts it as a resounding success.

They enter a tunnel and the darkness cocoons them, the shush of the tyres matching the susurrus of blood in Harry’s ears. The car behind them turns on his headlights just as Harry does and they flood the rearview mirror. Harry winces, but doesn’t look away, his gaze fixed on the broken white line disappearing into the dark in front of him. Eggsy’s hair is clipped and soft beneath his palm, his fingers threaded in the strands. Pleasure sluices through him, his heart thumping, and he thrusts, making a helpless sound, as simultaneously he comes and exits the tunnel into a shock of light and colour. 

Dizzy and euphoric, Harry just has the presence of mind to flick on the indicator and pull off the side of the road to let the car behind them pass.

They both collapse back, heads lolling on the seatback. Eggsy has a smug grin on his face as he turns to face Harry.

“Well?” Eggsy hums; he know the answer.

“It was brilliant,” Harry says, supplying it.

“Harry,” Eggsy says, his brow pulling together in the middle. “Our conversation earlier got interrupted, and I didn’t want to have to deal with Luc either, but…”

“I know,” Harry says, his chest tightening. “I’ve been thinking about London too.”

“You have?”

“Yes. But Eggsy, I do feel like I’m not ready to decide anything right now. I don’t, I don’t know, I don’t have the proper words yet.”

Or rather, Harry does have the right words, but he’s still not entirely sure how to go about saying them.

“What do you mean, the proper words?” Eggsy looks down, fiddling with the seatbelt.

“I just mean, this was a big step we took. I want us to think everything through.”

“Oh,” Eggsy nods, slowly. “Ok. Sounds fine.”

“Hey, look at me,” Harry says, ducking his head until he can meet Eggsy’s eyes. Eggsy looks back at him impassively. It ties a knot in Harry’s stomach. “Do you mind waiting to talk about this? If there are things you want to say—“

“No, it’s fine, Harry, don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t feel fine.”

“I’m ready whenever you are. I can wait.”

“Eggsy—“

“Seriously, don’t fret. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” Eggsy straightens up in his seat and puts his sunglasses on. “All this posh food has me missing fish n’ chips. You think they have anything like that here?” Eggsy says, his easy going smile back in place.

“Oh, I think we might be able to find you something similar,” Harry says, grateful for Eggsy’s willingness to lend Harry a grace period and his understanding. Reaching across Harry takes Eggsy’s hand in his and laces their fingers together.


	8. Camogli-Florence-Rome

They eat their weight in fresh fried seafood in Camogli and sleep intertwined with the windows open to the sea.

At dawn Harry slips out of the hotel room and sits on the beach and tries valiantly not to have a panic attack.

London.

Eggsy was thinking of London and so Harry is too.

What does home look like now?

What do their jobs look like? What would change if they were together when they returned?

Did Eggsy even want that?

Yesterday, had Harry just delayed inevitable, the inevitable heartbreak?

Eggsy had said that the reason why he and Tilde split was because he had put the work first. That they hadn’t had time to build something together.

Harry knows the nature of Kingsman better than anyone. He knows what it demands. He had sacrificed the very notion of love and companionship in order to keep its tenants and covenants. And despite the fact that Harry regretted it, Eggsy might not have learned the same lesson from his fall out with Tilde. Sometimes, he knew, it took making the same mistake many times over in order to well and truly take it to heart.

Harry knows this: if Eggsy is willing, he wants to be with him.

Why did something so simple make his heart torque and fill him with queasy doubt?

Why did Harry feel like the only way he could speak the words that sang so clearly through his blood was with touch?

The sun begins to glister brightly on the water, beating hot on the back of his neck, and so Harry brushes the sand from his ankles and, carrying his shoes, walks up the street into the rainbow stucco town with its green shutters and boisterous fish market. Harry buys two espressos and a pair of still warm sfogliatelle and returns to the room. Eggsy is still asleep, warm sunlight spilling over the bed. Harry climbs over him, bracketing him in his arms, and kisses him awake. Presses love into his drowsy skin with tender hands.

It is the work of a few fumbling minutes to get Harry’s fingers wet and inside him. Another few for Eggsy to divest Harry of his shorts and climb on top of him. One stretched out exquisite minute for Harry’s cock to be engulfed in the hot satin of Eggsy’s body.

He stretches above Harry, etched in the light from the windows at his back. His lashes are inked into his cheeks, his lips the colour of rose petals, his hair a wheat field in tumult.

Harry holds onto his hips and watches him as he begins to move. His eyes remain closed, lips parted, as if he is still dreaming, his hands floating down to wrap lightly around Harry’s wrists.

He works himself on Harry’s length, grinding down and lifting up to the point of breaking, making tiny broken sounds in the back of his throat.

At one point he arcs back and releases Harry. Harry gets his heels beneath him and begins to thrust up, his hands moving Eggsy, guiding him, so that he begins to bounce each time Harry moves his hips. He’s close, Harry can always tell, from the way he blushes up his chest, so Harry wraps one hand around Eggsy’s thick cock and watches as Eggsy tips over into orgasm, trembling and moaning above him. The sight makes Harry lose his control and he spills inside Eggsy, holding him flush down on his cock, buried as deep as he can get.

Eggsy is pink with happiness, kissing Harry lazily, a few moments later, after they’ve cleaned up, the duvet pulled up around them. They snuggle, Eggsy’s head resting on Harry’s chest, his fingers moving idly through Harry’s chest hair. The waves break a block away and they can see the blue unfold, blue meeting blue, sky and sea merged.

They eat delicate sugared pastry, making an even bigger mess of the sheets, and sip cold bitter espresso, and Harry savours every single second.

 

**********

The drive south through Tuscany is picturesque. Red clay hills, acres of wheat fields interspersed with striated rows of grape vines. The dark dusky green of olive and cypress trees. The old stone towns perched on hilltops. They stop for lunch in Florence: wine, tortellini, gelato. They pass south through Umbria; Harry naps while Eggsy drives. They arrive in Rome just as the sun is setting and have more gelato, sampled from three separate shops, for supper. They go to bed early, Harry nested in the cup of Eggsy’s body, I love you, once more, whispered safely into the dark.


	9. Positano

Every time Harry looks at the picture on his bedside table he’ll remember Eggsy that day.

The jellyfish day.

The beach at Positano is set at the bottom of a ragged cliff. The city itself climbs its steep craggy walls in marmalade coloured boxes of citron, blood orange, and tangerine with sheer stone staircases winding between. Pines cling to its edges with rows of striped umbrellas in neat formation down below. There is a church with an impressive duomo, a medieval tower to protect against saracen invaders, a harbour where fishing and tourist boats head out to sea, to Capri, to Sorrento.

Harry sits on the pebbled beach and watches Eggsy put his toes in the water.

He’s in a pair of bright blue swim shorts. They’re short and tight, hugging his generous arse and powerful thighs. He’s deeply tanned, which, much to Harry’s delight, has brought out the freckles on his shoulders. Harry might not be able to see them from where he sits but he had tasted them that morning. He had touched those broad shoulders, the muscular arms, licked the seam of his spine all the way down to where his white blonde hair was glinting in the sunlight in the small of his back. He’d fit his thumbs into the dimples above his waistband and canted that glorious arse up for his delectation. Harry cocks his head, ogling his boy from behind his sunglasses as Eggsy shivers from the chill of the surf as it swirls around his ankles.

Eggsy had woken up wanting to talk but Harry had distracted him by rubbing their cocks together and then turning him over to eat him out properly before breakfast. It had been a resounding success, Eggsy had had a truly spectacular orgasm and Harry had been saved from confessing his love.

He knows he can’t put it off much longer. It’s their last day. They fly home tomorrow.

Harry’s a coward. It’s a suit he wears with ill ease. He’s not even sure what he’s avoiding at this point, he trusts Eggsy, but the territory is so foreign, so fraught with the unknown, the risk of it all dissolving at a wrong turn, that Harry finds no obvious path forward. Best to let Eggsy lead, but even then, as he had been trying to do that morning, Harry had panicked and distracted him.

Eggsy is calf deep now in the turquoise water, his hair shining golden in the sun. The water is too cold for Harry’s liking so he’s elected to stay on shore, sipping a carmine hued compari spritzer.His thoughts are meandering, thinking of what they’ll have for lunch, when Eggsy finally takes the plunge and dives into the gentle waves.

His stroke is even, his body cutting through the blue in a straight line as he kicks out towards the buoys.

When he’s about halfway he turns and waves to Harry, his teeth white in his face. Harry waves back to him and then lets his gaze wander up the hillside as Eggsy submerges once more.

Harry misses it then, the moment of distress when the jellyfish strikes and Eggsy reacts. Harry’s eyes are fixed elsewhere when the Italians around him sit up from their lounge chairs and begin to murmur. Harry’s gaze is only drawn back when he sees the lifeguard hop down from his chair and make his way authoritatively to the waters edge. Harry reaches Eggsy just as the young Italian man is helping him limp out of the water.

“What happened?” Harry asks, as Eggsy wraps his chilled hand around Harry’s forearm and leans into him.

“Jellyfish,” Eggsy gasps, holding out his right leg. “Fucking Christ it hurts.”

The lifeguard is tutting in Italian and gesturing towards his chair, but Harry waves him off and leads Eggsy up the beach to the first bar he comes to. The pebbles slide maddeningly beneath their feet, singing their soles. Inside the bar the air is cool after the heat of the beach. Harry speaks with the ancient barmaid who had provided him with his Campari spritzer earlier. With a sympathetic look at Eggsy she disappears into the back to fetch supplies.

Eggsy is in pain when Harry returns to him, his face scrunched up and his chest heaving.

“Ain’t you gonna pee on it or something? Shit, Harry, it really hurts.” His teeth are gritted and his lips are pale.

“Angelica is going to help. She’s lived on this beach her whole life. She knows how to treat a sting like this. God, he really got you good, didn’t he?” Harry murmurs, bending over Eggsy’s leg, which is propped up on a barstool in front of him, to get a better look.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eggsy begins to chant under his breath as they wait.

Angelica returns with a tub of vinegar, a pair of tweezers, and a freshly uncorked bottle of limonchello.

“Aceto first,” she says in partial English, handing the massive bottle of white vinegar to Harry. “Then this,” she says, placing the tweezers in Harry’s palm. “Barbe.” She mimes plucking the tentacles from Eggsy’s leg. “This, for you,” she says, pushing the chilled bottle towards Eggsy.

“Grazie,” Harry says, dragging another stool over. In order to keep Eggsy’s leg in the sunlight he sits pressed close against Eggsy who fists one hand in the back of Harry’s shirt and palms the bottle of limoncello in the other, taking a long swig.

“All right,” Eggsy says, when he’s swallowed. “I’m ready.”

Without drawing it out Harry douses the wound with vinegar three times. They’re both panting and white faced at the end of it. Eggsy chugs the liquor and then passes the bottle to Harry, who takes a long drink. The sugary lemon-bitter alcohol burns on the way down, but it does the trick; steadying him for the next task: the removal of the venomous nematocysts. Eggsy’s hand tightens against Harry’s back and he leans his forehead into Harry shoulder, his breath hot on Harry’s skin.

“Go on then,” Eggsy says, quietly, sweat beading on his skin. Harry’s chest hurts, he doesn’t want to cause Eggsy anymore pain, but he knows this step is necessary.

“I’m here,” Harry says, trying his best to soothe him. “Tell me when you need a break and I’ll stop, ok?”

“K,” Eggsy says, uncharacteristically obedient. It speaks to the amount of discomfort he’s feeling and makes Harry ache.

“All right, here we go,” Harry says, taking up the tweezers and leaning in.


	10. Positano-Tourrettes-Sur-Loup (present day)

Harry somehow manages to tote a very drunk, very whingy Eggsy up the single access road that wends and winds its way up the cliffs to their hotel. They’re able to procure some calamine lotion from the staff before Harry carries Eggsy wearily to the elevator and then deposits him onto their bed. Harry stuffs two pillows below Eggsy’s calf and hands him the bottle before collapsing onto the settee in a sweaty, disheveled, breathless starfish splay.

The room is cool and shaded and blissfully quiet. Harry closes his eyes.

“You should just do it now, you know,” Eggsy says, his voice soft. “It’s not gonna be any more painful tomorrow when we go back. Fuck, I’m already in pain, Harry. If you had an ounce of feeling for me you’d just put me out of misery now.”

Harry blinks his eyes open.

_What the fuck?_

“Eggsy, what’re you—“

“Just do it all right? It’ll be fine. I won’t make it hard for you at work. I won’t be a little bitch about it. But I need you to do it, Harry. I need you to just do it now, because waiting for it, it’s killing me and I just—“

“Eggsy, what the hell are you talking about?” Harry stands, his knees liquid, wobbly from the uphill climb. He puts out a hand to steady himself. Eggsy is lying on the bed with his eyes shut tight, his mouth is an ugly grimace, and he looks very much like he’s trying not to cry. Harry steps up to the bed, cold dread spreading icy fingers through his body.

Eggsy opens his eyes and pins Harry with them. Anguished. “Just say it!”

“Say what?” Harry asks, bewildered. His stomach knots up and his gorge rises in the back of his throat.

“I’ve asked you multiple times about London, Harry, and every time you’ve either changed the subject or told me to wait or or or distracted me with sex, and I get it ok? I’ve hooked up with friends before and it’s gone wrong and you just don’t have to do this, ok? You don’t have to spare me and pity fuck me or whatever it is you’re doing. I can take it, Harry, so just say it, ok? Say you’re done.”

Harry stares at him, dumbfounded.

Eggsy looks up at the ceiling, his hands in fists at his side. “Christ, you’re really gonna drag this out, eh? What do you want? You want me to do it for you?”

“Eggsy, I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sod that, Harry. You’re a piss poor liar.”

“Eggsy—“

Eggsy puts his hands over his eyes as if he cannot bear to look at Harry.

Harry moves around the side of the bed and sits on the edge. He wraps his hands around Eggsy’s wrists and pulls his hands away. Two pools of green, the colour of Monet’s water lily pond, stare up at him.

“Eggsy, darling, I’m not going to break up with you.”

Eggsy’s brow draws down and in. “You’re not?”

“I’m so sorry you thought I was.”

“Well then what the bloody hell, Harry? Why’re you being so confusing?”

Heat climbs Harry’s face, but he doesn’t look away.

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Of me?” Eggsy exclaims, incredulous.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“I’ve wanted to say something to you for days now, but I know it’s mad and I know it’s too soon and I don’t want you to feel pressured or beholden or—“

“Harry, for god’s sake, just say it!”

“I love you,” Harry blurts out, blushing like a boy. “I’m desperately in love with you and the last thing I want is for this to end, but I don’t want you to feel like you must say it back to me or stay with me, I just. I’ve got no idea what I’m doing here, Eggsy. I’m—“

Eggsy leans up and crushes his mouth against Harry’s. “Shut up you idiot, I love you too.”

“Really?”

“Really. You git. You had me really, really scared, you know that?”

“I apologise. I was terrified, to be frank. I was making myself sick about it.”

“I thought you said the not sleeping thing was just a part of being old.”

“Well, it is, certainly, but it was also this.”

Eggsy flops back against the bed. “God, I thought this was going to go in a very different direction. I’m too drunk to handle this right now.”

“To handle what? That I love you? Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s a fucking brilliant, absolutely spectacular thing, Harry, and we can’t even consummate it properly because I’ve got a lame leg!”

Harry leans down and kisses him. Sweetly. Deeply.

“There will be ample time for that later, I promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

 

 

**********

 

_Tourettes Sur Loup, present day_

“Stop picking at your face and come to bed!” Harry calls out from where he is lying, curled under the covers waiting for Eggsy to finish his

“Oy, shut up, will you? Don’t rush me. This zit is epic.”

“It’ll only get bigger if you pop it,” Harry mutters, unaccountably irritated. His blood is fizzy with champagne and his head it light and he wants Eggsy touching him NOW. A minute later he hears the taps turn on and he props himself up on his elbow to watch Eggsy come out of bathroom.

“Eager are we?” Eggsy grins, leaning in the doorway for a moment, letting Harry get his fill.

“Come here,” Harry says, in a voice that brooks no refusal.

The light in its shade is casting an amber glow over everything, painting Eggsy in caramel tones as he pads across the room to clamber up on the bed and press himself down on top of Harry.

It’s been a year, Harry’s body shouldn’t react the way it does, should it? Like it’s the first time, complete with butterflies and a rush of adrenaline that sets his heart pounding and his cock thickening. Harry loves the feel of him, the textures of his skin, hard and silky, smooth and rough. Loves how he knows precisely where and how to kiss him—ears, throat, inner thigh—that make Eggsy squirm and gasp. Harry loves him, loves him dearly.

“The last time we were here I was in distress,” Harry whispers as Eggsy sucks on his collarbone.

“You were?” Eggsy says, pulling away. He’s looking down at Harry with concern. Harry shakes his head.

“I’d just realised how I felt about you,” Harry says, and Eggsy’s face melts along its worried lines into a soft smile.

“That’s sweet, Harry.” He preens a bit.

“But I couldn’t tell you, and—“

“And so you let me get you drunk and then you ruined me for all other men.” He’s grinning now.

“It wasn’t a terrible plan.”

“It was a truly terrible plan, Harry!”

“We got there in the end, didn’t we?”

“You mean I got us there in the end.”

“Come here, you’re too far away,” Harry says, tugging at Eggsy’s shoulders, trying to reset the mood.

Eggsy goes, pushing his lips to Harry’s, supple and soft, their bodies fit together all along their lengths.

“All I meant to say was that I’m grateful for Luc fucking Grimaldi and that bloody jellyfish and for your willingness to call me on my cowardice. I’m glad I get a second chance to be here with you and tell you how I feel.”

“And how do you feel, Mr. Hart?” Coy and smiling, warm in Harry’s arms.

“I feel like I’ve waited all my life for you, Eggsy. You’ve brought so much to my life. I’m so glad I met you when I did. When I finally understood how wrong I had been. When I was finally ready to love you. When I was finally ready to risk having something to lose. Thank you for being the brave one, the vulnerable one. Thank you, my love, for being you.”

“Happy Anniversary, babe.”

“Happy Anniversary, Eggsy.”


End file.
